Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Heart And Home

Heart And Home
Cassandra Austin


Men Were Just Plain Inconvenient! Jane Sparks had a business to run, and no citified doctor filled with Wild West fantasies was going to distract her. Even one as warm and handsome as Dr. Adam Hart, the only man who ever tempted her into nightly dreams of love… !Women Were A Complete Mystery… .Miss Sparks was aptly named. The busy brunette had certainly sparked Adam Hart's interest! He'd never known a woman so capable, caring and fresh-faced beautiful in his life. And, her happy mothering of a lonely little girl made her just what the doctor ordered… .









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u0fbd6d02-3b76-5202-882d-038ade6d40bd)

Praise (#ubef2846f-92fd-571e-91d1-f9ee365d86eb)

Excerpt (#uf4055921-720b-59c9-913d-c862569d9770)

Dear Reader (#u7b5e6dc2-2850-5dad-950c-5a1b3b932edd)

Title Page (#u16d4086e-07a8-5fcd-b516-2848a8d368cc)

About the Author (#u29d1828f-a663-57ca-82fe-9a3bb72d955d)

Dedication (#u5405edae-2879-5bd2-aa25-3a1251601a55)

Chapter One (#ue86f3b19-09bd-51d0-a920-43888698aad9)

Chapter Two (#u99cde042-9993-58ad-8f18-2d46675b8a44)

Chapter Three (#ue09956da-ab8a-5fd9-ba16-be27f7d3b4aa)

Chapter Four (#u64a52aa8-af7d-529a-9dc7-6d11911e10bb)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Author’s Note (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Acclaim for Cassandra Austin’s recent books


Flint Hills Bride

“…an exciting, action-packed love story with a very special twist.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Hero of the Flint Hills

“A beautiful love story with vivid descriptions…a definite keeper to be cherished.”

—Rendezvous




“Damn it, Jane, you’re twisting everything I say.”


He was right outside her door. She didn’t want him to hear her crying.



“Jane, please, listen to me.”



Her head flew up at the sound of his voice, no longer muffled by the door.



“Oh, Jane.”



He moved to sit beside her on the bed and wrapped her in his arms. She wanted to resist but found it impossible. His gentle hands cradled her head against his strong shoulder. “All I seem to do is make girls cry,” he murmured.



Jane sniffed, trying to control her tears. She didn’t like her broken heart being compared to a young girl’s tantrum, but she couldn’t think of any scathing retort.



“How can I prove I love you?” he whispered.



She could guess what he considered proof. The last thing she wanted him to know was that she longed for that “proof” every night…!




Dear Reader,



‘Tis the season to be jolly, and Harlequin Historicals has four terrific books this month that will warm your heart and put a twinkle in your eye!



Cassandra Austin’s new book, Heart and Home, is very aptly named this holiday season. Known for her raw, emotional Westerns, Ms. Austin stays true to her style with this story of starting over and finding true love. Physician Adam Hart vows to start a new life in Kansas, hoping that his “society” fiancée will eventually join him. But as his feelings for his beautiful, caring neighbor grow, the young doctor finds his ideas of love transformed…

Don’t miss our special 3-in-1 medieval Christmas collection, One Christmas Night. Bestselling author Ruth Langan begins with a darling Cinderella story in “Highland Christmas,” Jacqueline Navin spins an emotional mistaken-identity tale in “A Wife for Christmas” and Lyn Stone follows with “Ian’s Gift,” a charming story of Yuletide matchmaking.

If you want a Regency-era historical tale that will leave you breathless, don’t miss A Gentleman of Substance by Deborah Hale. Here, a taciturn viscount offers marriage to the local vicar’s daughter, who is pregnant with his recently deceased brother’s child. And in Jake Walker’s Wife, a Western by Loree Lough, a good-hearted farmer’s daughter finds her dream man in the Texas cowboy hired on—only, he’s wanted by the law…

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.



Happy Holidays,



Tracy Farrell,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




Heart and Home

Cassandra Austin









www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CASSANDRA AUSTIN


has always lived in north-central Kansas, and was raised on museums and arrowhead hunts; when she began writing, America’s Old West seemed the natural setting. A full-time writer, she is involved in her church’s activities as well as the activities of her three grown-to-nearly-grown children. Her husband farms, and they live in the house where he grew up. To write to her, send a SASE to: Cassandra Austin, Box 162, Clyde, KS 66938.


Dedicated to my sisters:

Nora, Sally, Nancy, JoAnn, Bobbie and Mari.



Special thanks to Warren S. Freeborn, Jr., our retired family doctor and friend, for assistance with medical aspects of this book.

Any errors that remain are purely my own.




Chapter One (#ulink_bc62a09c-ee34-5d87-9755-76b1e04f2d57)


Kansas, autumn, 1879

Dr. Adam Hart leaned against the unyielding back of the train seat. He had almost reached his destination; his chance to practice medicine in the Wild West was a few short miles away.

Only one thing kept him from feeling completely elated. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and withdrew the letter Doreena Fitzgibbon had given him just before he boarded the train. “Don’t open it until you’re underway,” she had whispered. He had hugged her and kissed her and promised yet again to send for her once he was settled.

He didn’t read the letter now, but tapped a corner of it thoughtfully against his chin. She wasn’t coming west. “I’m confident,” she’d written, “that once you have served the year you must in that backward town, you will come home and we can be married.”

Hadn’t she listened to his descriptions of this land? Didn’t she recognize the wonderful opportunities that were here? Wasn’t she as eager as he to live surrounded by the unspoiled prairie?

Evidently not. Perhaps he had made the whole adventure sound a little too exciting. And the gunfights. He should never have mentioned the gunfights.

At least, he thought with a sigh, she had given him a year. The glowing reports he’d send home were bound to win her over, then she would consent to move here and become his bride.

The train slowed for the Clyde, Kansas, station, and Adam strained to see out the dirty window. A crowd had gathered on the platform under a banner that read Welcome Dr. Heart.

Adam grinned. He could ignore the misspelling with a greeting like this. As the train pulled to a stop, a brass band started playing…something. It was hard to tell what since the musicians were hardly together. Still, Adam was warmed by the sentiment. He gathered the two bags he had with him, stepped into the warm autumn air and received a rousing cheer from the crowd.

A rather stout man who couldn’t have been much more than five feet tall stepped away from the others, motioning them to silence. “George Pinter, at your service,” he said as the band tapered off. “Mayor of this fair city.”

“Mr. Pinter,” Adam said, “this is indeed a warm welcome.”

Pinter beamed. “My buggy is waiting to take you on into town,” he said, directing Adam along. “Your trunks will be delivered straight away.”

Adam climbed in beside the little man and they started toward the main part of town, a few blocks away. The band struck up again and the crowd followed.

“We have a house for you to live in that should serve well as an office besides,” Pinter shouted over the noise. “I’d suggest you eat next door at the Almost Home Boarding House. Miss Sparks sets a fine table.”

Somehow the particulars of living and eating had not occurred to Adam. He had always pictured Doreena keeping house. “Until my fiancee arrives, I might do that,” he shouted back.

The buggy stopped in front of a tidy little twostory frame house with a narrow porch nestled between currant bushes. As Adam stepped out of the buggy, he noticed the house next door, a much larger affair with a porch that wrapped around two sides. A few late flowers bloomed in the flowerbeds beside the steps. That house, he realized, would suit Doreena much better than his tiny one.

He shook off the thought. When Doreena came west, it would be because she loved him. Where they lived was immaterial.

Pinter had opened the front door and was waiting for Adam to join him. The house had obviously been scrubbed clean. Adam walked across the front room, furnished with a desk and a few mismatched chairs, and peeked into what looked like a well-appointed kitchen.

Turning back into the room, he discovered that

several of the townspeople had followed them in. More crowded the porch and street outside. The band began another tune.

“There’s a bedroom here you could use for examinations,” Pinter shouted, indicating a door. “Upstairs is another. Don’t worry about dinner tonight. I’ll be over to get you.”

Adam thanked him, setting the two bags on the desk.

“Well, come along, folks. Let’s let him get settled. Your trunks’ll be along.”

Pinter shooed everyone out. Adam followed, closing the door behind them. He then turned and leaned against it, closing his eyes. His dream of practicing medicine on the frontier was about to come true. The perfection of the moment was marred by a touch of melancholia. It might have been homesickness, but he was inclined to think Doreena’s letter was the cause.

He was reminding himself that Doreena would come around when suddenly the door behind him shook with someone’s forceful knocking. He swallowed a groan at the abuse to his shoulder blades and flung open the door. He. wasn’t sure what he had expected. The mayor again, perhaps, or the men who had promised to bring his trunks.

What he found was a tall young woman who seemed as surprised to see him as he was to see her. She was covered from neck to toe in a simple dress of blue calico dotted with brown flowers. Her dark brown hair was pulled savagely back from her face and bound at the nape of her neck. A few wisps of hair had escaped their confinement and curled around her face, softening the effect quite charmingly. Dark circles around her brown eyes made them seem too large for the pale face.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “I was looking for Dr. Hart.”

“You’ve found him,” he said, stepping aside and opening the door wider. She remained standing on the porch.

“You’re…younger than I expected.” She waved a hand as if deciding that was unimportant. “Grams is quite ill,” she said. “Can you come see her?”

“Your grandmother?” Were they both ill, or was this exhaustion he saw in the young woman’s face? Adam moved quickly to the desk and grabbed the smaller of the two bags. He joined her on the porch and closed the door.

“I’m Jane Sparks,” she said, leading the way. “I run the boardinghouse next door.”

In a moment they were inside the large house. She led him past a tidy parlor, through a dining room and into the kitchen. The smells that greeted him told him her dinner preparations were well underway.

She led him into a tiny room just off the kitchen. A narrow bed took up most of the available space. A woman Adam guessed to be in her sixties lay covered to her neck with a white sheet. As they entered, her body was racked with an agonizing cough. The granddaughter hurried to her side, supported her shoulders and held a handkerchief until the spell passed.

“Pneumonia,” Adam whispered. He didn’t need to see the pale skin and overbright eyes, or touch the hot dry brow. He could hear it in the sound of her breathing and the dreadful cough.

“Yes, I thought so,” Miss Sparks said. She showed him the blood on the handkerchief before she tossed it aside. She dipped a clean cloth in a basin of water, wrung it out and smoothed it carefully on the fevered brow. She must have left this task only a few minutes before. “Is there anything you can do for the pain?”

Adam set his bag on the edge of the bed across from Miss Sparks and found his stethoscope. He needed to know how far the infection had developed. He listened to the rattle in the woman’s lungs while the granddaughter made soothing sounds.

“When she’s awake, she’s in such pain it breaks my heart. I just want her to sleep.”

The last was spoken just above a whisper. The emotional and physical strain the young woman was under was clearly visible.

“I could give you something to help you rest,”

he suggested gently. “You could find someone else

to care for her.”

She didn’t look up from her task. “I can’t,” she said. “I have to be here.”

Adam slipped the stethoscope back into his bag. “Her lungs are full of fluid,” he said. “My recommendation is to drain them.”

“Drain them?” The dark brown eyes turned in his direction and he was struck again by how large they were.

“With a tube, uh, into the chest cavity.” Adam touched his own side. He knew it sounded pretty awful. Well, it was pretty awful. But he had seen it done successfully, and he knew he could do it. “She’s drowning, actually, in the infection.”

“This would…hurt her?”

“There would be some pain, yes, but she’s in pain now, and it could save her life.”

The young woman shook her head and turned her gaze back to her grandmother. “I can’t let you hurt her.”

“I don’t mean to hurt her,” he said. “I want to save her. If I don’t do it, she will die. It’s her one chance.”

Tears welled up in Miss Sparks’s eyes and she brushed them away. “Don’t you understand? It’s already hopeless, and she’s already had more pain than she can stand-than I can stand.”

Adam clinched his teeth as the dying woman took another rattling breath. “Is there other family I can talk to?” he asked.

“No. We only have each other.” She turned to him and spoke fiercely for the first time. “I won’t let you experiment on Grams. If you can’t help her sleep, then there’s nothing you can do.”

Adam hesitated. This wasn’t how he had imagined starting his practice. He had planned to save his patients. Especially the first one. “Miss Sparks, you don’t need to be afraid of modern medicine. I’m a trained physician. I want—”

“Thank you for coming, Doctor. I’m sorry I bothered you. If you’ll just tell me what I owe you…”

She had dismissed him. She returned the cloth to the basin, repeating a task she had doubtless done a thousand times. He watched her for a moment, then found the bottle of morphine. He poured a tiny measure of the powder into a folded paper and crimped the edge closed.

Handing it to her, he told her the price and said, “Dissolve this in a little water and see if she can drink it. I don’t think you’ll need more than that.” He hoped she understood the last as his prediction on how much longer she’d have to nurse her grandmother.

She reached for it cautiously. As soon as it left his fingers, he turned from the room. She caught up with him in the kitchen and paid him the money without another word.

He made his way back through the dining room and down the hall, wondering who would finish preparing the meal while she waited for the old woman to die. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with Miss Sparks. She thought she was protecting her grandmother. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that a dramatic rescue of such an ill patient would have gotten his practice off to a better start.



Jane returned to her seat beside Grams just as she heard the front door close behind Dr. Hart. What had she expected? That the doctor would tell her Grams wasn’t dying, that everything would be all right? Had she expected him to offer a miracle cure the other doctors had not?

She shook her head. Of course not. Grams had taken ill almost three months ago and had been unable to leave her bed now for several weeks. Even if she survived the pneumonia, she would never be well. Dropsy, the doctors had said. Her heart was failing.

All Jane had expected from Dr. Hart was something that would stop the pain when Grams awoke. Every breath was agony for her grandmother, and all she could do was cry.

Jane fingered the paper in her hand. That was what he had given her, something for the pain. Then why did she feel cold inside?

Because he had put it into words. Grams was dying. Not in a few months but now. And he had forced her to make the choice to let her.

“Oh, Grams,” she whispered. “Did I do the right thing?”

When she thought of the doctor poking a hole in Grams’s frail side, forcing a tube into her chest cavity, which hurt already, Jane knew she had been right. She had to believe she was right.

She refreshed the cloth on Grams’s forehead one more time, then went back to the kitchen. With the door open she could hear nearly every breath her grandmother took. It had become the rhythm of her life these past few days, the slow labored inhale and exhale. With both dread and longing she waited for the moment when the breathing would stop. How could Grams take much more of this? And - how could she?



Adam’s trunks arrived shortly after he returned. He set to work unpacking them immediately, glad for the activity. The steady stream of patients he had imagined didn’t materialize. He checked his front door a couple of times and finally left it open so he’d be sure to hear a knock. All the time he was upstairs he listened for a voice from below. He opened the windows, thinking he might hear footsteps on his porch. He finished unpacking and returned to the front room, having been uninterrupted the entire time.

Uninterrupted if he didn’t count his own thoughts. He kept seeing Jane Sparks with tears in her eyes and that poor woman lying beside her.

He could have saved her. He still could. There was probably still time. But how would he convince the granddaughter? She hadn’t been willing to consider the procedure. And he didn’t know how to convince her.

If he were more experienced, had seen a little more death and had saved a few more people, he would know what to say. But he didn’t, and his first patient in his new home was going to die, probably within the next few hours.

He was pacing the front room, seething with guilt and frustration, when he finally heard footsteps on his porch. He turned toward the open door to find Mayor Pinter there.

“Evening,” the little man said. “Did you get settled in?”

“Pretty much,” Adam said, forcing a smile. “I hadn’t realized it was dinnertime already.”

“We eat a mite earlier here than in the city, I suppose.”

“I won’t complain about that,” Adam said, realizing how hungry he was. Wonderful smells had been wafting through his open windows and door all afternoon, smells he had tried his best to ignore because he knew they came from Miss Sparks’s kitchen.

“It’s nice of your family to let me come to dinner,” he said, slipping into his suit coat as he joined Pinter on the porch.

“I don’t have a family,” Pinter said, preceding Adam down the steps. “I take breakfast and dinner at the boardinghouse. Got myself a permanent seat at her table. I recommend you do the same. Unless you got talents I don’t know about, it’ll likely be the best food you’re gonna find.”

The boarding house. So much for putting Miss Sparks out of his mind. Not that he would have anyway, Adam supposed, but he had been looking forward to a distraction.

“Miss Sparks has got four rooms upstairs that she rents out. If they’re all filled, she can accommodate only three more guests at her table. You gotta arrange ahead, like I did for you tonight. There’s money left in the fund we started to bring you here. It’s payin’ the rent on that little house, but there’s enough left to feed you. Besides,” he added, leaning closer to Adam’s shoulder, “the little lady needs the money. I should know-I’m the banker.”

As Pinter opened the front door of the boardinghouse, Adam noticed a small sign nailed to the siding an inch or two below eye level. The words Almost Home were painted across it in ornate script He had missed it during his earlier visit.

Inside, Pinter led the way to the parlor. The shades were open, filling the room with afternoon sunshine. Two women were seated at opposite ends of the comfortably furnished room.

“Ah, the Cartland sisters are here already,” Pinter said. “Ladies, have you met the new doctor?”

The women smiled and murmured their greetings. They were both in their thirties, Adam judged, and dressed rather elegantly, or at least more elegantly than Miss Sparks had been. He would have guessed they were sisters, for they had the same large nose.

Pinter took a few steps toward the window, putting him closer to one of the women. “This is Naomi,” he said, “and yonder is Nedra.”

Nedra’s hair was an odd shade of yellow, while her sister’s was…orange. Maybe unusual hair color ran in the family along with the nose.

“Come sit here, Doctor,” said Nedra, indicating the space next to her on the velvet settee.

Adam tried to smile graciously as he crossed the room to join her.

“The ladies are planning to open a dress shop,” Pinter said. “That will be such a welcome addition to the community, don’t you think?”

The question rang with a certain amount of desperation. Catching Pinter’s need for help with the conversation, Adam spoke up. “Where are you ladies from?”

“St. Louis,” Nedra, the yellow-haired one, said. “Our father left us a small inheritance, and we decided we could make more of it out here than in the city.”

“Our skills are needed here,” declared Naomi, as if she saw their move in a very different light. “ And I don’t just mean our sewing skills. These people are in desperate need of civilizing influences.”

“The good doctor will help us with that,” Nedra said, turning a radiant smile on Adam. “I understand you’re from back east.” She made it sound like a foreign country.

Before Adam could reply another guest entered the parlor. Pinter was quick to make the introduction. “Tim Martin, meet our new doctor, Adam Hart. Tim’s a salesman. He makes the boardinghouse his base whenever he’s in the area.”

Adam rose to shake the man’s hand. He was middle-aged, his thin hair slightly graying.

“Good to meet you,” Martin said. “I was out on a call this afternoon or I would have turned out with the rest to welcome you. Did the band play?”

Adam couldn’t resist a smile at the memory of the band. “Yes, it was quite a welcome.”

“Fine.” He gave Adam a hearty slap on the back. “I love that band. Brings tears to my eyes every time I hear ‘em.” The lilt in his voice made Adam wonder if he meant tears of laughter.

“It could use some civilizing, if you ask me,” Nedra said, tucking a strand of yellow hair in place. “I think they sound awful.”

“It’s their passion,” Martin said, taking a seat and motioning for Adam to return to his. “I heard an interesting story today,” he continued.

With the conversation in Martin’s capable grasp, Adam found himself listening for sounds in the rest of the house, from the direction of the kitchen in particular. He was unaccountably eager for Miss Sparks to make her entrance, and not just because he was hungry.



Jane carried the last platter to the table. She had heard some of her boarders come down and knew they were gathering in the parlor. There would be seven at the table tonight. She had moved the extra chair to a corner to give the guests on one side of the table a little more room. George, she knew, would notice and take a seat there. Tim would probably take the other. She wondered which seat the doctor would take and why she pictured him at the head, directly across from her.

A quick inventory told her everything was in order but didn’t banish the nervousness that had bothered her all afternoon. It was worry for Grams, she told herself for the twelfth time, not the prospect of eating dinner at the same table as the handsome young doctor.

The doctor unsettled her. The fact that his eyes and voice seemed kind and gentle didn’t mean he was. She tried not to think about what he had. suggested because it made her feel light-headed, but when she did think about it, she knew for certain that she had made the right choice. And Dr. Hart wasn’t kind.and gentle or he wouldn’t have suggested such a thing.

But dinner was business. If George hadn’t reserved a place for the doctor tonight, there’d be two empty chairs. Every meal meant that much more money toward the next house payment. Five more and the house would be hers. It would finally be a home.

Grams won’t be here to see it.

The realization made tears threaten. She forced them aside and headed for the parlor. Five people sat visiting in the warm little room, but Dr. Adam Hart was the first one she saw. He had been watching the door instead of participating in the conversation. Their eyes locked and the intensity of his blue gaze captured hers. Darn, he was every bit as handsome as she remembered. One lock of sandybrown hair fell across his forehead. She thought again that he seemed too young to be a doctor, though he was probably a year or two older than she was.

Tim Martin came to his feet, breaking the spell. “Ah, the lovely lady of the house has joined us.”

In spite of her worries, Jane had to smile. She was far from lovely, especially now when she had had so little sleep. But Tim was a salesman. Complete honesty wasn’t part of his nature. “May I escort you to dinner?” he asked, offering her his arm.

With a glance to make sure the rest of the guests were preparing to follow, she took his arm and walked with him to the dining room. He held her chair and she slipped into it. When the Cartland sisters were seated the men took their places.

“Mr. Bickford is late again,” observed Nedra, giving Naomi a meaningful look. Naomi was silent.

The guests hadn’t taken the chairs Jane had expected. Naomi, of course, had maneuvered her sister away from the center chair on the east side, ensuring the tardy Mr. Bickford would have to be seated next to her. But George had gone to the head of the table, and Tim had taken the chair beside him, leaving the doctor to sit at Jane’s right.

George made the introductions.

“We’ve met,” they said almost in unison. Now why should that completely fluster her? Her cheeks grew warm. Perhaps because she and the doctor had the attention of everyone around the table.

“I looked in on her grandmother this afternoon,” the doctor explained.

“How is the old girl?” George asked, reaching for the bowl of potatoes that sat nearby and scooping up a mound for his plate. The others started dishes around as well, and Jane tried to force herself to relax.

“Not good,” Dr. Hart answered.

Jane mentally crossed her fingers, hoping he would not describe what he had wanted to do. Fortunately, George didn’t give him a chance to go into detail. “Too bad,” he said, shaking, his head. “We’re all fond of Grams. Naomi, grab that butter dish there beside you and pass it on around.”

The guests fell silent except for the clink of silver on china and a few murmured requests or thanks. Jane would have been content for the meal to continue just that way.

“Miss Sparks,” the young doctor began, “I was wondering if I could arrange to take all my meals here.”

Why did that seem like a dangerous request? “ I can’t promise I’ll always have a place for you,” she heard herself say.

“Tomorrow morning?”

Jane pretended to think it over. Of course she had a place—two in fact. “Yes, you can come tomorrow morning. Beyond that, we’ll have to wait and see.”

He nodded. The table was quiet again for several minutes as her guests continued eating.

Tim was the next to speak. “You married, Adam?”

“Engaged,” he said.’

This created a minor stir around the table. Naomi expressed an interest in hearing about the fiancée, smirking a little at her sister’s scowl. Perhaps Nedra had done a little maneuvering of her own. She sat directly across from the doctor.

“Her name’s Doreena,” Dr. Hart began. “She’s very pretty, blond hair, kind of.well, I suppose petite is the right word.”

“Little bitty thing, huh?” Tim asked, nudging Hart with his elbow.

The doctor grinned, which made him look even younger than he did already. “About this high,” he said, touching his arm halfway between his elbow and his shoulder.

She was probably twelve, Jane thought uncharitably. Though she herself was an inch or two taller than the Cartlands, she had never felt overly tall. Never until now, anyway.

“She’s accomplished on the piano,” Adam added, obviously warming to the subject, to the neglect of the roasted chicken on his plate. “She paints a little and is a wonder when it comes to making all the arrangements for a party.”

“Throws a good bash, does she?” Tim queried. “Sounds like quite a catch.”

“Sounds like she’s rich,” Jane said. Just why she felt compelled to enter the conversation, she didn’t know. Was she trying to offend a paying guest?

Instead of being offended, however, the doctor laughed and nodded. “That, too.”

“Then she’s definitely a catch,” Tim said, joining in the laughter.

Jane forced herself to laugh, too, and wondered why she cared at all what the future Mrs. Hart was like.

The merriment died down rather abruptly, and Jane knew her final guest had arrived.

“Here you are,” Naomi said in a voice that dripped with sweetness. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

“The novel, you know. The term will start soon and there will be no time to work on it.”

“This is Lawrence Bickford, our schoolmaster,” George said. “Have you met Dr. Hart?”

Bickford shook his head as he took his seat. “I understand you’re from Philadelphia.”

“Dr. Hart was telling us about his fiancée,” Naomi said as she made sure all the bowls and platters were passed to the late arrival. Jane doubted if he noticed her efforts.

“Don’t get discouraged, lad,” Bickford said as he filled his plate. “Your year in the wilds will fly by and you’ll be together again.”

“Actually, I’m hoping she’ll join me in a few months,” Adam said. “I want to make a home here.”

Jane tried to work up some irritation toward the prospect of a piano-playing, party-planning neighbor. Instead she felt an odd pain at the thought of seeing the perfect Doreena at Adam’s side.

“A wedding,” Naomi cooed. “Isn’t that romantic?” She asked the question of the table at large, but her eyes had turned to the schoolmaster. He made no response.

Jane might have enjoyed Naomi’s attempts to gain Mr. Bickford’s attention if she weren’t feeling somehow ill at ease. Because of her grandmother, she told herself, though to be honest she had nearly forgotten the poor woman for a few minutes. Concentration seemed to be a casualty of sleepless nights.

“Please, excuse me,” she said, coming to her feet. “I must check on Grams. Enjoy your dinner and stay as long as you like.” Being careful that her glance never met the doctor’s, she left the room. She was afraid his eyes would be condemning. He knew she had chosen to let Grams die.

Grams was sleeping, but Jane sat down beside her anyway, dampening the cloth and returning it to her forehead. She lifted one of Grams’s hands, thinking how hot and brittle it felt. The old woman’s pulse seemed to flutter beneath her fingers.

“I shouldn’t have even sat down with them,” Jane whispered. “I should have stayed with you.”

Voices drifted in from the other room, George’s primarily. She didn’t try to understand what was being said. She wanted to be alone with Grams.

“Remember when we first came here, Grams?” she asked softly. “I wanted to go home. You said, ‘This can be home, Janie. Anywhere someone loves you is home.’“

Jane felt her eyes burn. She hadn’t come in here to cry. But she had fought the tears so often the last few days there was no strength left to fight them. “Don’t go, Grams,” she whispered, lowering her face to her hands. “Don’t go.”




Chapter Two (#ulink_9f377460-287e-525b-8b5a-b2fb0c35a685)


Adam lost interest in dinner shortly after Jane left. He would have excused himself as well, but the Cartland sisters were extremely interested in his wedding plans, which were few, and his plans for decorating the house, which were even fewer.

Tim Martin began describing a wedding he had attended in another part of the state, and Adam struck on a plan. He could almost convince himself he was being professional.

“Friends,” he said when Martin gave him an opening, “I believe I’ll check on Miss Sparks’s grandmother, then call it a night.”

“Why, that’s so kind of you,” Nedra said.

He gave her a polite smile as he rose. She had been batting her eyes at him all through dinner, and he didn’t want to encourage her. The others, except for Mr. Bickford, wished him good-night as he left the dining room.

The kitchen bore the evidence of the huge meal Jane had recently prepared. Adam wondered if her entire store of pots and pans had been called into service. Still, the room seemed clean in spite of it, a trick of organization, perhaps.

He moved cautiously toward the little bedroom. He didn’t want to startle Jane, yet he didn’t want to disturb the sick grandmother by calling out to them. At the doorway he paused. Jane sat beside the bed, her face in her hands. She was crying softly. He could hear the grandmother’s labored breathing above the quiet sobs.

He felt like an intruder, but he couldn’t make himself leave. He moved to the far side of the bed and lifted Grams’s bony hand, feeling for the pulse. It was faint and rapid. He gently returned the hand to its place on the sheet.

He should leave. There was nothing he could do for the old lady. Nothing he could do for the granddaughter, either, he told himself. Wrapping her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder didn’t seem very professional. Besides, judging by the cool glances she had given him at dinner, she wouldn’t be disposed to accept.

He rested his hand gently on the cloth that lay across the woman’s forehead. It was cool and damp. Even in the state she was in, Jane hadn’t neglected this small service.

She would be embarrassed if she looked up and found him watching her, Adam knew. He ordered his legs to take him out of the room, but found himself stopping beside Miss Sparks instead. His hand was drawn to the narrow, slumped shoulder.

At the moment of contact her head jerked upright. “Doctor. I didn’t hear you come in.” She brushed frantically at her tear-streaked face.

Adam crouched down beside her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Is she…?”

“Not much change from this afternoon. Are you all right?” He wanted her to say no, to ask him to stay with her.

“Of course.” She sniffed once. “Did somebody need something?”

He shook his head. It seemed to him she was the only one who needed anything, and he didn’t know how to give it. “Let me ask the folks out there to clean up for you.”

“Oh, you can’t do that,” she said, rising to her feet. “They’re paying guests.”

Adam straightened slowly. “They’re also your friends.”

“No, please. I can do it. I can check on Grams every few minutes.”

“Then let me stay and help.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m used to doing it, really.”

She was all but shooing him out of the room. He took the hint, but at the door he turned. “There might still be time, you know. We should do everything we can to save her.”

Jane shook her head. “No. She’s dying. But I couldn’t see her in pain any longer.”

Adam nodded. It was what he expected. Back in the kitchen, he could hear voices from the dining room. He had already told the others good-night, and, not wanting to see Nedra again quite so soon, he left through the back door.

Miss Sparks’s backyard contained a tidy garden and shed, clotheslines and a small chicken house and pen, making his own yard seem barren. The sun was just sinking below the horizon as he reached his back door. His first day here hadn’t turned out to be quite what he expected. His little house seemed too quiet and lonely as he went up the stairs to his bedroom.

He lit a lamp and lifted a book from the pile he had left against a wall. Shelves here and in the examining room were a top priority. He would look into hiring a carpenter tomorrow.

He removed his shoes, coat and tie and worked the collar buttons loose. He settled onto the bed, his back against the headboard. The book lay unopened on his lap as he listened to voices next door. The Cartland sisters were on the porch. There were men’s voices as well, bidding one another goodnight.

After a brief silence, a feminine voice carried to his room. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it, Mr. Bickford?”

A gruff, unintelligible response followed.

“I was hoping you’d join us on the swing for a while.”

Adam heard a grumbled reply, followed by the muffled slam of a door.

“Really, Naomi, how can you stand that man?”

“He’s cultured and educated,” her sister hissed. “I can smooth out the rough edges once we’re married. That’s what women have always done.”

“Rough edges? The man’s a self-absorbed lout.”

Naomi didn’t disagree, and Adam felt a grin tug at his lips. If Mr. Bickford’s window was open the self-absorbed lout could probably hear this conversation, too.

“At least I’m not throwing myself at someone half my age.” That must have been Naomi.

“The doctor isn’t half my age. Five years younger, perhaps.”

“Try ten.”

“He’s cultured and educated, too.”

“With a beautiful fiancée.”

“Who isn’t here. And until she is, he can only compare me to the country milkmaids and slum trash like Jane.”

“And me, of course.”

“You won’t try to ruin this for me, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I try? You can have Mr. Bickford.”

Adam realized he had nearly stopped breathing. It was one thing to listen to their conversation about Mr. Bickford and quite another to be the topic himself. It wasn’t so much learning that Nedra was interested in him that bothered him; he had figured that out at dinner. It was the calculating way they were discussing him.

And Jane. Did they look down on her because of humble beginnings? Letting them know his own roots should discourage them quickly enough. He would try to work it into the conversation at breakfast if he weren’t certain Doreena would prefer it not be known.

He realized he didn’t simply want to discourage the sisters, he wanted to defend Jane. That struck him as odd because he hardly knew her, apart from the fact that she was a great cook. She was going through a rough time, and while he disagreed with her decision about her grandmother, he felt certain it was for reasons that she, at least, found compelling. The notion that she was allowing Grams to die so the boardinghouse would be hers, or the possibility that she was simply tired of caring for the old woman, had crossed his mind and been dismissed.

Adam had to respect Jane’s wishes. In disagreeing with his authority, she had shown herself to be a strong woman. He smiled at his own thoughts. Her disagreement would be more impressive if he was an older, more respected physician. He was making excuses for her and she didn’t need that.

He laid the book aside and moved to the window. The boardinghouse was in shadows now, but he was certain no one remained on the porch.

What did Jane need?

Not his help. Not even his company.

Grams might linger for a day or two, but he doubted it. She would probably die tonight. In spite of the boarders in the rooms upstairs, Jane would be alone. And Adam couldn’t think of any way to ease her sorrow or his own guilt.



Jane sat in the straight-backed chair beside Grams’s bed and held a hot, fragile hand gently in her own. She had slept in the chair the past two nights, but tonight sleep wouldn’t come. It had taken until nearly midnight to clean up the kitchen and dining room. She had hated to leave her grandmother even for a few minutes, afraid she would die alone.

Now, as the clock ticked toward three o’clock, she thought of all the things she wanted to tell her grandmother. She prayed that Grams would wake up one more time so Jane could tell her how much she loved her. She would tell her how grateful she was for all the things Grams had taught her. She would…

The breathing stopped abruptly. Just like that. Jane stared at the beloved face. “Grams?”

The hand she held was still hot, but the pulse she’d felt a moment before had stilled. Grams was gone.

Jane had thought she was prepared for this but she found herself shaking. Unshed tears burned behind her eyes and formed a lump in her throat. She would have to face a future without Grams.

“I won’t give up,” she whispered. “I won’t lose the boardinghouse. I’ll work hard and make you proud, Grams.”



Adam arrived for breakfast at the appointed hour and found the parlor deserted. George stepped into the hall and motioned him toward the dining room. “The old lady died last night,” he said softly. “Such a shame. Jane’s gone to make the arrangements and has asked the Cartlands to fix breakfast. We’re trying to set the table.”

Tim Martin was arranging plates and coffee cups, while Lawrence Bickford lounged against the sideboard. “What do you think?” Martin asked.

“Does it matter?” Adam replied. “As long as we’ve got what we need to eat with.”

“Dr. Hart, I’m surprised at you!” One of the Cartlands, the one with orange hair, had come in from the kitchen with a plate of biscuits. O for orange; it was Naomi. She gave him what could only be described as an indulgent smile. “The forks go on the left and the knives on the right,” she instructed Martin sternly before flouncing back into the kitchen.

“You’ve been overruled,” Martin said softly. He went to work switching the flatware on his side of the table, and Adam stepped up to take care of the other.

“How is Miss Sparks holding up?” he asked.

“Haven’t seen her,” Martin answered. “Have you, George?”

“Early this morning. She was her usual efficient self. She said her grandmother just slipped away in her sleep. It was a mercy, really. Ah, here comes breakfast.”

The Cartland sisters paraded in, one with a platter of scrambled eggs and the other with sliced ham. Nedra spoke as she approached the table. “George, would you get the coffee? I swear that pot is just too heavy for either of us to be carrying around.”

George moved quickly to do her bidding.

When Naomi approached a chair near where he stood, Adam automatically stepped forward to hold it for her. Her flirtatious smile made him curse his ingrained manners.

Naomi was in Jane’s place, Adam to her right and Nedra to her left. George filled the coffee cups, and, when he was seated, the Cartlands started the platters around the table.

“Cooking for this many people is quite an experience,” Naomi commented.

The eggs were so rubbery Adam was sure he saw them bounce when he dropped them on his plate.

“So many things to watch at once,” her sister concurred. “Why, I swear it would tax less intelligent women.”

Adam heard a biscuit actually clink against George’s plate.

“Jane makes it look so easy,” Martin commented.

Naomi tossed her head as if the comment was inconsequential. “I suppose if one has no other skills, cooking for large groups of people would at least be something.”

Her sister nodded. “But we thought it was our duty to be of help to poor Jane.”

The men politely murmured their understanding and thankfulness. All of the women’s comments had been directed toward Adam, and they watched his every move. He took a sip of coffee and put the cup down quickly, hoping they hadn’t seen his grimace, then hoping they had. They had used an egg to settle the grounds, but the coffee had been allowed to boil again afterward, leaving it tasting more like eggs than the eggs on his plate.

Adam tried to eat a little of the poorly prepared food, telling himself that it was the nutrition that counted. A glance around the table told him the other men were doing the same.

“There might be something to be said for practice,” Naomi commented.

Murmurs of agreement echoed around the table.

“Tell me, Adam,” Nedra began. “I can call you Adam, can’t I?” She fluttered her heavily blackened eyelashes.

“Of course.” If he-took small enough bites of the biscuit and chewed it long enough his stomach ought to be able to digest it, he reasoned. It couldn’t be any worse than the hardtack soldiers ate.

“So tell me, Adam.” She actually giggled. “What do you think of our little town so far?”

Adam swallowed, then took a sip of the coffeeand-egg brew to be sure it went down. “Well,” he said, “the people are certainly friendly.”

“Of course they are,” Naomi said, obviously trying to draw his attention away from Nedra. “You should let me show you around.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Nedra said. “We could do it anytime.”

Naomi’s eyes shot venom at her sister, but Nedra didn’t notice; she was too intent on Adam.

Adam thought again of mentioning his humble beginnings, but somehow, initiating any conversation with either of these women seemed risky. He glanced at Mr. Bickford and found him eating as if he were the only one present. Perhaps experience had taught him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Well, I’m off to the bank,” George said, rising from the table. “Can I get anyone more coffee before I go?” Adam wasn’t surprised that there were no takers.

With the ice broken, the rest found it easy to leave as well. Adam was back in his empty little house in no time. After the initial elation of being away from the Cartland sisters came the more sobering realization that, until he had a patient, he didn’t have much to do. He wished again that Doreena had consented to come with him. He would at least have company while he waited.

He slouched in one of the chairs in his front room and gazed at his surroundings. He wanted to hire a carpenter to build the shelves. And he ought to lay in some food in case the Cartlands cooked again.

He laughed out loud. “That was the worst meal I’ve ever eaten,” he said softly. If nothing else, it had prepared him for Doreena’s inexperience. She couldn’t possibly do worse.

It wouldn’t do him any good to sit and think about Doreena all day. He would put a note on his door and run his errands. The task was done almost as quickly as the decision was made, and in a moment he was bounding down the steps.

He stopped and inhaled deeply. The air smelled fresher than what he was used to, clean and sweet with just a touch of wood smoke. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, in the confusion of the welcoming committee and the fear for his first patient.

His first patient. He had to put her and her granddaughter out of his mind. He headed down the dirt street, determined to enjoy his first full day in the West, which was proving to be less wild than the novels had described. It was just as well, he supposed. He didn’t really want to be treating gunshot wounds on steely eyed gunmen.

It was the independence and the opportunities he had come for, a chance to live free from the constraints of a society that didn’t quite include him, yet wanted to govern his every move. This pretty little town was the perfect place for him.

Clyde’s business district started only a block and a half from his house—and ended three blocks beyond that, where a bridge crossed a little creek. A hard-packed path served as a sidewalk. A few small trees had been planted to separate the path from the street a few feet away.

Adam walked the entire length of Washington Street, then crossed it and started back. He discovered several grocery stores, some in unlikely combination with other things like shoes or livestock feed. One was combined with a drugstore, and Adam stepped inside.

After arranging with Mr. McIntosh to supply him with medicine once his own supply ran low, he purchased a few canned goods and staples, mindful of the fact that he would have to carry them home.

“Is there a carpenter in town?” he asked as McIntosh tallied his purchases.

“Yep,” he said. “J. H. Huff down the street. He can build about anything you can imagine.”

Adam billed the groceries to his account at the bank and, with the gunnysack the grocer had provided filled with survival food, he crossed the street.

Adam found the carpenter’s shop by the smell of sawdust. A carpenter was hard at work smoothing the surface of a long pine board. Something about the way several more pieces of wood were laid out on the floor amid the shavings caught Adam’s attention. He set his sack on the floor and watched the man work for a minute, putting off calling attention to himself until he had solved the puzzle.

It hit him all at once. It was to be a coffin, probably for Adam’s first patient. He should feel regret or even irritation at the granddaughter for not allowing him to try to save her. Instead all he felt was deep sympathy for Jane.

Huff broke into his thoughts. “Howdy, sonny. What can I do you for?”

Adam was momentarily startled by the odd syntax. “I wondered if you could build some shelves for me?”

“Start this afternoon. You want wall or free?”

That, too, took a second to decipher. “Wall, I mean fastened to the wall.”

“Ya live…?” The man was still holding the plane as if he intended to apply it to the wood again in a second. Perhaps his cryptic speech was intended to save time.

“Little place just past the boardinghouse.”

Huff nodded, pointing a corner of the plane toward him for an instant. “New doctor.”

Adam nodded.

“Afternoon.” He returned to his work.

It was only midmorning, so Adam took that as a reminder rather than a salutation. He hoisted the gunnysack over his shoulder, leaving the rasp of the plane behind him.

On his way home he met a few townspeople who nodded or murmured greetings, but nobody seemed interested in stopping to talk. What, he wondered, was he going to do with himself the rest of the morning?

As he passed the boardinghouse he hit on an idea. He could visit Jane. He could offer his condolences and, if she wasn’t too distraught, he could ask about a seat at the table for dinner. He expected to be starving by then. Why that particular errand could lighten his steps, he wasn’t sure. Boredom, probably.

He left his sack inside his front door, edited his sign to read Next Door instead of In Town, and hurried to the boardinghouse. Inside, he straightened his collar and tie and ran his fingers through his hair. That too seemed an odd reaction, but he passed it off as wanting to look respectable considering the errand.

The house was quiet. A house of mourning, he reminded himself. He walked softly to the dining room and stopped in surprise. The table was exactly as he had left it an hour or more before. Dirty plates, half-full coffee cups, the uneaten ham, all lay drying on the table.

He had assumed the Cartlands would clean up. Obviously they had assumed otherwise. They had left it for Jane. He guessed that Jane had been up all night, out early making arrangements for a funeral and was now trying to get a little rest. This was not the sight that should greet her when she awoke.

Adam shrugged out of his suit coat and swung it over the back of a chair. He had pulled kitchen duty for larger groups than this. He expertly stacked plates and saucers and headed for the kitchen.

And met his second surprise. The mess in the kitchen defied imagination. The Cartlands hadn’t replaced a single lid on any of the canisters and tins they had opened, let alone started a pan to soak. There was even a broken egg lying on the floor just where it had been dropped. With a sigh he attacked the mess, reminding himself that he had nothing else to do.

An hour later the kitchen looked like Jane’s again. He had found where most things belonged or at least made a guess and left the rest stacked on the nowclean table. He rolled down his sleeves and looked around, satisfied with his work. He gathered the collar and buttons and his tie from the chair where he had discarded them earlier, and returned to the dining room.

Clean dishes now filled the glass-fronted cabinet, and the hardwood table shone from the oil and lemon polish he had found. He had even swept the floor. There was nothing left to do, which should make him happy. Cleaning was not his favorite activity.

But he didn’t want to go back to his empty house. He had been imagining Doreena in the boardinghouse kitchen, and he had trouble picturing her in the smaller house.

Well, part of the time he had imagined Doreena. The rest of the time he had pictured Jane finding a spot on one of her dishes. Or worse, finding him in her kitchen up to his elbows in dishwater, with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Collarless with his shirt open and his coat off. She was liable to be scandalized. Or embarrassed. Neither was his intent.

He slipped the collar and tie into a pocket of his coat and slung it over his shoulder just as he heard a door close down the hall. Light, feminine footsteps approached the dining room. He was about to confront either Jane or one of the Cartland sisters. He considered making a run for the back door, but ran his fingers through his damp hair instead.

Jane entered the room, her purposeful steps faltering when she saw him.

“I seem to make a habit of startling you,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah…” He debated telling her.

“Is it getting hot out?” she asked.

“Warm,” he said. “I came to offer my condolences.”

“Thanks.” She nodded and turned away, going through the kitchen door. Adam sighed to himself. She really didn’t like him. And, he told himself firmly, it really didn’t matter.

He followed her into the kitchen. “Perhaps this isn’t a good time,” he said to her back as she lifted a bowl off a cupboard shelf, “but I was wondering if there would be room for me at dinner.”

“Sorry,” she said, continuing her work. “The pastor and his wife are coming to dinner, and that fills the table, I’m afraid.”

Adam thought of several other things he might say, but they all seemed trite in the face of her obvious grief. He was turning to go when the door opened and Tim Martin entered.

“I’m off to catch the train,” the salesman said.

The glance Jane threw in Adam’s direction before she turned to her boarder held a combination of irritation and guilt. She had known Martin was leaving but had denied his request for dinner anyway.

“Have a safe trip, Tim,” she said pleasantly. “Can I expect you back in a couple of months?”

“Of course, and I’ll recommend you to everyone I see that’s headed your way. Sorry about your grandmother, dear. It was nice meeting you, Doctor.”

Martin shook hands with Adam, turned and kissed Jane’s cheek, then left them alone again.

Adam watched Jane avoid his eyes. Finally she muttered, “I forgot he was leaving today.”

Adam nodded, not believing her at all.

“Dinner will be the same time as last night.” She turned back to her work.

“Miss Sparks, if you don’t want me to eat here, I can—”

“No,” she said quickly, facing him. “Please, I don’t want an empty chair if I can help it.”

He grinned at her. “That’s wonderfully flattering.”

“I’m not good at flattery.”

She turned away, and he watched her stiff shoulders for a moment, wondering why he didn’t just leave. “We missed you this morning,” he said finally.

She shrugged.

“I mean, we really missed you this morning.”

She faced him, her eyes narrowed in question. He quirked a smile at her.’ “I’m looking forward to dinner.”



Jane watched him walk out of the room and listened for the front door to close. She tried to brush the image of that little-boy grin out of her mind. What exactly had he meant by missing her at breakfast? She might have thought he was suggesting the meal had been inadequate, but she knew better. Nedra had already told her it had been fine.

Jane also knew better than to think it was her company he had missed. She had been nothing but rude to him since she’d met him. And even if she had been sweet and gracious, he had Doreena.

She set the flour-coated teacup aside and sank into the chair. She had come in with every intention of baking pies for dinner. She had gotten as far as measuring two cups of flour. Or was it three? She would have to pour it back and start again.

Why did Dr. Adam Hart get her so rattled?

She wanted to laugh at herself. Besides the fact that his face was so handsome he made her knees weak and his body was the very model of masculine health? Maybe because he thought she had let her grandmother die.

She would like to tell him all her reasons, and she would, if she felt more certain of them. Right now she didn’t. Right now she thought he was rightshe should have let him try anything to save Grams.

And that was what bothered her about Dr. Hart. She associated him with the pain and the loss and the guilt. And she always would.

She forced herself back to her feet and thoughts of Dr. Hart out of her mind. She had dinner to prepare. And it would be one of her best. She would make up for missing breakfast. She poured the flour back into the canister and measured out six cups. Salt, then lard followed. She reached for her pastry cutter in its usual place, but it wasn’t there. She tried two other drawers before she found it. Evidently the Cartlands had used it for the biscuits and had forgotten where it went The minor irritation was easily forgotten.




Chapter Three (#ulink_e2d9d152-b49c-5989-bc25-d42b41f86e1f)


They buried Grams the next morning.

As he stood at the chilly cemetery with the others, Adam found himself watching Jane. She seemed in complete control but the tight jaw and rigid spine testified to what it cost her. Even from where he stood he could see the dark shadows under her eyes.

Following the service, everyone went to the boardinghouse. Adam was sure the entire town and half the countryside were crowded into Jane’s parlor and dining room. He found a place against a wall of the parlor and watched the proceedings with interest. It seemed more like a party than a funeral except that voices were kept appropriately subdued.

Three gentlemen nearby introduced themselves. “Gonna miss that old gal,” one said.

“Shame somebody so lively should come down with dropsy,” commented a second.

“It was pneumonia,” Adam said.

The man nodded. “Once she was down in bed, I figured that’d happen. Her granddaughter took her to Kansas City a month or so ago. Old lady was against it. Waste of money. But she was slowing down and her feet were always swollen, and the girl needed to know why.”

“Don’t dropsy mean a bad heart?” asked another. “Such a shame. The pneumonia was really a blessing.”

The three men left in search of food, leaving Adam to stare after them. Jane hadn’t mentioned a heart condition, though she had said something about it being hopeless. He should have questioned her.

But the pneumonia had been so obvious he hadn’t considered other illnesses at all. What kind of a doctor would make a mistake like that? A young one, he supposed. Still, it bothered him. A lot. He felt he owed Jane an apology for any additional anguish he might have caused her.

He had some thought of seeking her out for that purpose when a middle-aged woman stepped up beside him. “You must be the new doctor.”

“That’s right. Adam Hart.” He extended his hand.

“I’m Rose Finley,” she said, taking the hand and not letting it go. “I saw you get off the train, but you’re even better looking up close.”

Adam laughed self-consciously. “That’s kind of you,” he said, finally extricating his hand.

“But you’re so young,” she added.

His own thoughts exactly. “Yes, ma’am. Only time’s going to cure that.”

“Oh, and clever, too. Is your wife here?”

“I’m not married.”

“You poor thing,” she said. She looked anything but sympathetic.

“Would you excuse me?” He made his way around her and added over his shoulder, “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Finley.”

There was a steady flow of people in and out of the parlor, some carrying plates of food, others holding coffee cups. The hall and the dining room were nearly as crowded. The chairs that normally circled the table had been placed against the wall, along with at least a dozen others. The table was spread with the largest assortment of food Adam had ever seen in one place.

He searched the room for Jane and found her lifting a stack of plates out of the china cupboard. She set the plates on a corner of the table. Before Adam could make his way toward her, she turned and spoke to a woman who had approached her carrying a silver coffee server.

He watched Jane take it and thank the woman, then turn toward the kitchen. Evidently the woman had been reporting that the server was empty. Jane had gone to the kitchen to fill it from the pot that was too heavy for the Cartland sisters to lift.

George Pinter hampered Adam’s progress toward the kitchen. “Quite a spread, huh?” the little man asked with a smile.

“I hope she didn’t cook all of this.”

“You mean Jane? No, most of the women here brought something. Might as well grab a plate and dig in.”

Adam cast another look toward the open kitchen door before he followed Pinter to the table. “Is this what all funerals are like out here?” he asked.

“Somewhat. But everybody was fond of Grams. It’s a tragedy.” He shook his head and repeated, “A real tragedy.”

Adam expected him to add in the next breath that it was a blessing.

Pinter found two empty chairs and motioned for Adam to join him. From across the room, Adam watched Jane pour coffee into outstretched cups, accept dirty dishes and clean up one or two minor spills. “Isn’t she supposed to be the primary mourner here?” he asked.

“Jane? I suppose. But she probably wouldn’t accept help if anyone offered.”

“Has anyone offered?”

George shrugged. “Did you try this apple strudel? I’ll bet anything it’s Jane’s.”

Adam shook his head. “Save this seat.” With a purposeful stride, his dirty plate held out in front of him, he made it to the kitchen without being stopped for more than a greeting. He set his plate on the table and blocked Jane’s way as she headed out with another server of coffee.

“Go sit down,” he said.

“What? People are waiting for more coffee.”

“They can get their own coffee.” At her shocked expression he put his hand next to hers on the silver handle. “Or you can let me pour it. Fill a plate and go sit by Mr. Pinter.”

She made no move to relinquish the server and Adam wondered what was going through her mind. “This is crazy, you know,” he said softly. “Your grandmother dies and you’re expected to throw a party for the whole town? We should all be waiting on you.”

She almost smiled, but her grip on the coffee server tightened. “That’s a little hard to picture. Look, Doctor, I know you mean well, but this is what I do.”

Adam eased his hand away, and she brushed past him. He made his way slowly back to his chair.

“What was that about?” Pinter asked as Adam sat down.

“I offered to help. You were right”

Pinter laughed and the sound grated against Adam’s ears, as had all the other laughter he had heard this morning. “Don’t take it so hard, son. Your mama’d be proud you offered.”

Adam swallowed laughter of his own. He knew some woman had given birth to him, but it had been years since he had thought about it. The notion that she might have a moment of pride on his account seemed ludicrous. “That wasn’t the point,” he muttered.

A few minutes later the first of the guests decided to leave. Adam kept his seat and watched them approach Jane. A few remembered to offer their condolences along with their thanks for the lunch. Scattered dishes on the table left with their owners. The pace of the departures increased until he was the only one remaining.



Jane walked slowly back to the dining room after seeing the last of the guests out. She knew Dr. Hart was still sitting in there. She would have noticed if he had left with the rest. It was too much to hope that he had gone out the back door while she wasn’t looking.

No, she was right. There he was. At least he had the manners to come to his feet when she entered the room. Could that possibly mean he was finally ready to leave?

That hope died with his words. “You look exhausted.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” She decided to tackle the table first, starting with the empty platters.

“Yeah, but it’s free.”

“That’s about what it’s worth.” She didn’t want to find the doctor amusing. She didn’t want to be attracted to a man engaged to a beautiful, wealthy woman. If he would just go away she wouldn’t have to think about him—at least not as much. “Don’t you have patients to see?”

“Apparently not. This may be the healthiest town in the country.” He was using a large empty platter as a tray and filling it with cups that were lying around the room.

She watched him a moment, marveling at his efficient movements. Actually, marveling at more than that until she remembered she wanted to send him away. “How will you know if you have patients if you aren’t home when they come?”

“There’s a note on the door that says I’m here.” He carried the platter of dishes into her kitchen.

She quickly followed him. “Are you mad at me for not letting you pour coffee? Is that why you’re hanging around?”

“No.” His back was to her and it took her a moment to tear her eyes away from the wide expanse of shoulders and notice what he was doing. He pumped water into her dishpan and placed it on her stove. Flicking a drop of water on his finger he tested the temperature of the stovetop.

When he started to remove his suit coat, she found her voice. “What are you doing?”

He paused for only an instant, then the coat came off, reminding her of the other time she had seen him in his shirtsleeves. A suspicion tickled the back of her mind but he spoke, distracting her. “I was going to wash, but I could dry if you’d rather.”

“Do I look so bad that you think I need help?”

He was removing his tie, and it demanded her full attention. Long, clever fingers worked a collar button loose. Then another. In a moment the collar and tie were stuffed into a pocket of the coat he had kept over his arm, and his throat was exposed.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, and she found herself reaching for the coat as he handed it to her. He rolled up his sleeves as he talked. “I was wrong about your grandmother.”

Jane blinked. “Apparently not.”

“I mean, I was right about the pneumonia. But I didn’t know about the dropsy.”

“I told you…” She watched him shake his head and realized that she hadn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it was my fault. I should have asked more questions.”

How many men could admit their mistakes so easily, or were willing to accept blame that was partially hers? How many men had eyes that shade of blue?

Jane shook her head. Dr. Hart was a distraction she didn’t need. “You’re forgiven,” she said, “and you don’t have to help with the dishes to make amends.”

He grinned at that, that charming little-boy grin that made her want to smile. “Let me be honest,” he said, as if he were about to share a secret. “I’ve never lived alone before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been alone before. That house gives me the creeps.”

He turned away, opened a cabinet door and withdrew a tray. “I bet there are dishes in the parlor.”

Jane followed him with slow steps, stunned by the turn of events. His steps, on the other hand, were purposeful, and he outdistanced her in a moment. She stood in her messy dining room, staring at the empty doorway to the hall.

And caressing Dr. Hart’s suit coat. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she put it over the back of a chair. He was determined to stay and help her clean up. It was foolish to argue about it. First, because she didn’t think he would give in, and second, because she was exhausted.

She would concentrate on his “secret” and put her grandmother’s death out of her mind for a little while. She was still standing two steps inside the dining room when he returned with the tray of dishes.

“You need a dog,” she said as she followed him into the kitchen. He turned and grinned at her. He looked exactly like a little boy who had just been offered a puppy. “How old are you?” she asked.

He laughed. It was a very pleasant laugh, and she decided she needed that even more than she needed his help.

He found a place for the tray and turned back to her. “Think of how much trouble I’d be in if I asked you that”

“All right. I’ll assume you’re older than you look, and you can assume I’m younger than I look. How’s that?”

“You really think I look so young?”

His grin was the kind that took over his whole face. It was incredibly charming. And incredibly dangerous. “Let me wash,” she said. “You can dry if you want to.”

“You’re avoiding the question, but I suppose that’s an answer. Maybe that’s why I don’t have any patients. They think I’m too young.”

She moved the pan of warmed water to the counter, glad that she could turn her back on him. She had a tendency to want to gaze at him and not get her work done. “You don’t have any patients yet because folks aren’t used to going for help. They tend to take care of themselves.”

Until they’re desperate, she would have added, but she didn’t want any reminder of his visits to Grams. It was there, of course, always between them, but unspoken was preferable to spoken.

He was silent for a few minutes, giving her a chance to get some glasses washed in peace. “In other words,” he said, opening the drawer that contained her tea towels, “I can expect to see only severe cases at first.”

There it was, too close to spoken. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Yes,” she managed to answer.

She was grateful that he said no more about it. She washed and he dried, carrying trays full of her dishes to the cabinet in the dining room and bringing back more dirty dishes with each trip. “That’s the last in there,” he said finally. “Why don’t you do something with the food while I clean up the table?”

He found the furniture polish and was gone before she could agree or disagree. But why would she have disagreed? They were making their way through the mess much more quickly than she could have on her own. And he was surprisingly efficient help.

Oddly enough, she had wanted to disagree. It was her boardinghouse, and she prided herself on being self-sufficient. She hated to admit she needed help. She hated even more to admit she enjoyed his company. She had no time for a man in her life, even if she wanted one, which she most certainly did not. Besides, he had Doreena.

He returned to the kitchen, put the polish away and grabbed a fresh tea towel. “So what happens if I get a dog and he bothers the neighbors?”

His eager tone made her laugh out loud, surprising herself. “Since I’m your only close neighbor, I suppose that would be me. Let’s see.” She was washing the large platters now. She could hear the gentle clatter as he carefully stacked them on the table.

“As a matter of fact, your dog could cause me a lot of trouble. He could pull my laundry off the line, chew up my favorite tablecloth, dig up my flowers, accost my guests—”

“No,” he interrupted. “No accosting. I’d train him better than that.”

“So what about my flowers and my clothes?”

“Puppies are puppies.” There was that grin again, so infectious she couldn’t help smiling.

“And my favorite tablecloth?”

“I’d buy you a new one. If I ever get any patients.” She watched him slowly turn serious. “Probably not a good idea,” he said.

“I was teasing, Adam.” She had a sudden notion that perhaps he had never had a chance to be a little boy. She would bet his childhood hadn’t included a puppy.

“How’s this?” she suggested. “If you treat a farmer or his family and he offers you a pig as payment, ask if he’s got any puppies instead.”

Adam looked stunned. “Offers a pig as payment? You are joking, aren’t you?”

She laughed and turned back to the dishes.

“Pigs,” he muttered. He lifted the stack of platters and, just before he took it to the dining room, added, “If I get paid with a pig, I’m paying for my dinners with it.”

Jane fought the urge to giggle. The situation was too bizarre. Here she was laughing with a man whom she swore she didn’t like, letting him help her with dishes, of all things. Well, she did like him; she couldn’t help that. He would be as impossible to dislike as that puppy they were talking about.

She heard voices in the dining room and realized the clatter of dishes had kept her from hearing the front door. Grabbing a towel to dry her hands, she went out to investigate.

“He’s in the wagon,” a woman was saying.

“You go make sure he doesn’t move,” Adam told her. “I’ll be right out.”

The woman, a farm wife Jane knew only vaguely, hurried to do as Adam said.

Adam turned to her, tossing the tea towel over her shoulder. “Sorry I can’t help you finish.”

Jane shook her head, but he had already turned away. A need to watch him with a patient other than Grams sent her after him. She stood on her porch as he leaned over the wagon. The sideboards hid the patient from Jane’s view, but a small foot extending out the back made her realize it was the woman’s son, not husband that she had brought to town.

Adam spoke softly, the encouraging tones reaching Jane’s ears if not the words. The woman nodded and took his place at the back of the wagon while he ran into his house. Jane walked down her steps and joined the woman.

“What happened, Mrs. Tallon?” she asked, the name coming to her when she saw the six-year-old boy’s face. “How did Billy get hurt?”

“Oh, Miss Sparks,” the woman said, reaching out to her. “He fell trying to build a tree house. I told him to wait ‘til his father could help him.”

“Aunt Jane!” the boy cried. His mother moved quickly to keep him still. “Doc says my leg’s busted.”

“Well, don’t sound so proud,” his mother scolded.

“It hurt a lot at first,” Billy confided. “But now it don’t hurt less’en I move it.”

Adam joined them with splints and his medical bag. Jane stepped out of his way but watched over his shoulder as he cut the boy’s trouser leg from the ankle.

“So what do you think, Doc?” she asked. “Can little boys with broken legs still eat cookies?”

Even where she stood she could see Adam grin at Billy. “I don’t know. A diet of spinach and beets is what I usually recommend.”

Billy looked dismayed for a moment, then grinned back. “You’re just funnin’ me.”

Jane took Mrs. Tallon’s hand. “When the doctor gets through tying him back together, bring him over for a cookie before you head home.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” the woman said, “but we can’t. I’ll need to get home and start dinner. I’ll have Billy’s chores to do now, too.”

“Of course. Say, I have all kinds of food left from the funeral dinner. I’d be pleased if you’d take it home to your husband and boys.”

“Funeral dinner? Your grandmother?” Mrs. Tallon put her arm around Jane’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Miss Sparks. I hadn’t heard.”

“I understand,” Jane said quickly, not wanting to dwell on the funeral. “Now that dinner’s taken care of, you have time to bring Billy by for a cookie. I’ll go box up the food.”

Jane hurried back to her kitchen, uncertain why she had a sudden need to get away. The mention of the funeral, probably. She had managed to forget about it for a while. She had needed something like this to bring her back to her senses. She was starting to have too much fun teasing Dr. Adam Hart.

Grams was barely underground, and Jane was already forgetting her advice. Don’t trust men with anything but business. Don’t depend on them, and don’t let them know your weaknesses.

What Jane knew about her father should have taught her those lessons, anyway. He had used her mother and abandoned them both. What little he’d left her when he died couldn’t begin to make up for the pain he had caused.

Surely all men weren’t like that, Jane had argued, but how would one know?

One can’t, had been Grams’s answer.

Jane busied herself transferring food into pie plates and bowls she wouldn’t miss before Mrs. Tallon had a chance to return them. She tried to convince herself that her relationship with Adam was still business, the same as her relationship with George or the guests in the boardinghouse.

He was just one of the first men she had dealt with who was close to her age. Her responsibilities kept her from socializing much except with boarders, who tended to be older. That was the root of the attraction.

And why shouldn’t she have a friend her own age? She was not quite twenty-two and couldn’t remember ever having a friend. That was all Adam was. He had, after all, the beautiful Doreena. His interest in Plain Jane was probably because of their ages as well.

Or more likely because of his stomach.

At any rate, it was pleasant to have a friend, Jane decided, tackling the rest of the dishes once she had started a small pot of coffee. And she was safe from Adam because of Doreena.



Adam couldn’t explain why he wished Jane had stayed. The boy and his mother were both cooperative and calm. He didn’t need or even want her help.

He tried to put her out of his mind as he set the boy’s leg and gave them instructions. “Don’t put any weight on that leg,” he finished. “I’ll come out to take a look at it tomorrow. Let me know immediately if there are any problems.”

“Thanks, Dr. Hart,” Mrs. Tallon said. “I’ll talk to the mister about how to pay you and get it taken care of as soon as possible.”

“Can we go see Aunt Jane now?” Billy asked.

“How am I supposed to get you in there?” his mother responded. “I’ll see if she can send a cookie home with us.”

Suddenly the excuse to be in Jane’s kitchen again was more than Adam could resist. “I’ll carry him in, Mrs. Tallon. You can get the door.”

“I always come see Aunt Jane when we’re in town,” Billy explained. “She likes little boys.”

“I think you like her, too,” Adam said, carefully supporting the injured leg as he lifted the boy into his arms.

“I shouldn’t do it since I hardly know her,” the boy’s mother confided, “but sometimes I let Billy play at Miss Sparks’s house while I do my shopping. She doesn’t seem to mind and Billy’s much happier that way.”

Adam was a little curious as to what the everefficient-and-tidy Miss Sparks thought of having a little boy underfoot. He guessed she let Mrs. Tallon take advantage of her, the same way everyone at the funeral dinner had.

But then, she was the one who’d offered cookies.

Adam carried Billy into the kitchen, spotless now and smelling of fresh coffee. Jane had already positioned a chair with a pillow on it to support the broken leg. When Billy was comfortably seated, Adam stepped back to watch Jane. She gave the boy a hug then knelt down on the floor. “That’s one fancy leg you’ve got now,” she said. “Dr. Hart went to a lot of work to keep you from climbing trees.”

“That’s not why,” the boy said.

Jane smiled at the child as she rose to her feet. She served coffee to the adults and milk to Billy, and set a plate of oatmeal cookies on the table.

Jane was comfortable with the farm woman and talked easily about weather and crops. She was obviously a special friend to Billy. Adam watched her wink at the boy and slip him another cookie after his mother had said he’d had enough.

“The leg set all right, didn’t it?” Jane asked him as Mrs. Tallon prepared to leave.

“It’ll be fine. I just want to keep an eye on it for the next few days to be sure the splint keeps it immobile and there are no other complications.”

“She can’t keep bringing him into town,” Jane said, wrapping some cookies in a napkin and tucking them into one of the boxes that sat by the door.

“I’ll ride out to the farm,” Adam said. He wondered what was bothering her. Mrs. Tallon had said they hardly knew each other. Was she worried about the boy or did she know something about the farm that he didn’t? Her comment about pigs came back to him.

But her mind was on a different track. “He could stay here,” she said.




Chapter Four (#ulink_50e87573-2022-5d46-8054-6591318ce136)


“Can I, Ma? Please,” Billy begged.

Adam was sure his face showed his surprise. It would make it easier for him to check on the boy, of course, but Jane had just lost her grandmother. She hadn’t yet caught up on the sleep she had lost during the woman’s illness. A lively little boy frustrated by a broken leg would not make her life easier. He held his breath and waited to see what Mrs. Tallon would say.

“No,” the mother said finally. “Your father will want to talk to you.”

A new problem occurred to Adam. “No spankings until the leg is healed,” he said.

Mrs. Tallon laughed. “You don’t need to worry about that. But he’ll likely be doing extra chores once he’s healed.”

Adam carried Billy back to the wagon, and Jane and Mrs. Tallon followed with the boxes of food. After saying their goodbyes, Adam and Jane stood side by side and watched the wagon pull away.

“It was nice of you to offer to keep Billy,” Adam said.

Jane gave him a sad smile. “It would have kept my mind off things,” she said.

“You need to get some rest.”

She shook her head. “I need to start dinner. I need to keep busy.”

Adam watched her walk back to the boardinghouse. Once she was inside, he returned to his own little house. He slumped into a chair and stared at his closed front door.

This house was way too quiet. He needed other voices and activity around him. He wished he were sitting in Jane’s front parlor. Even if no one else was there with him, he would be able to hear the other boarders if they walked across their rooms. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

He needed to convince Doreena to join him. He had already sent one brief letter describing his welcome to Clyde. He hadn’t mentioned her refusal to come or his disappointment. He had been afraid he would say something he later regretted.

How could she think he would decide not to stay? Hadn’t she listened to him at all? He could understand if she said she didn’t want to leave her family and live in a comparatively primitive little community. But that wasn’t what she’d said. She had said she was sure he would go back.

It didn’t seem right that she should make him choose between the life he wanted and the woman he loved. He would get pen and ink and tell her so.

He was halfway to his feet before it occurred to him that that was precisely what he was asking her to do: choose between the life she knew and her love for him.

He slumped back into the chair. The difference, of course, was that he was the man. Tradition held that a woman left everything behind and started a new life with her husband. Doreena, however, would be leaving behind considerably more than most women. And getting far less.

Besides, he wasn’t her husband yet. She could still refuse. It came down to the same question. Was he willing to give up his dream of practicing medicine on the frontier in order to be with Doreena?

With a sigh, he rose and moved to the desk. She had given him a year. Perhaps he could change her mind.

It took him most of the afternoon to write the letter, in part because he carefully chose each word, but also because of the interruptions. Two separate farm families stopped to meet him. They were in town anyway, they pointed out. Neither needed medical attention, but were merely checking him out, deciding, he supposed, if it would be worth calling on him if the need arose. He hoped he made a favorable impression. The fact that one of the farmers called him son did not seem like a good sign.

Finally the letter was written. He tapped the pen against his chin as he reread it. He had told about Billy Tallon, pointing out that without his help the boy might have been crippled for life. He had mentioned the Cartland sisters, brushing very lightly over their flirting. He hoped he had depicted them as amusing neighbors.

He had skillfully written of the old woman dying of pneumonia and of taking his meals at the boardinghouse next door without ever actually mentioning Jane. Now he wondered why. He hadn’t been afraid Doreena would be jealous. He simply hadn’t been sure how to describe her.

Thinking of his neighbor, he was considering arriving early for dinner when he had another knock at his door. “Come in,” he called as he turned the letter over and placed the cleaned pen on top.

He stood as Rose Finley, the woman who had introduced herself at the funeral dinner, stepped across his threshold. She moved aside to admit a woman Adam guessed was just shy of twenty.

“This is my daughter Rosalie,” Mrs. Finley said, smiling proudly as the girl curtsied. “This, my dear, is Dr. Adam Hart.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Rosalie said, with a tilt of her head that reminded him instantly of Nedra Cartland.

“She’s been feeling poorly lately,” Mama Finley continued. “I’ll just wait here while you examine her in private.” She plopped down in a chair and folded her arms, looking rather pleased.

Adam hesitated a moment before directing the young woman into the adjoining room. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it for a moment.

Rosalie stood in the center of the room, making a slow turn as she studied her surroundings. “I’d feel more comfortable if the shades were drawn,” she said.

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but she had already stepped to the window that overlooked the street and was stretching to reach the shade pull. He quickly found a match and lit the lamp.

“Miss Finley—”

“You can call me Rosalie,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she went for the other window shade.

“Rosalie,” Adam began, becoming conscious of just how tightly the girl’s dress fit when she stretched up on tiptoe.

“Yes?” She turned around and eyed him innocently.

Adam would have bet money there was nothing wrong with this woman except an overeager mother. Still…

“Have a seat,” he said, indicating a stool that would bring her nearly eye-to-eye with him. “What seems to be the problem?”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/cassandra-austin/heart-and-home/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.